Dinner At 8
by AlfendisMysteryRoom
Summary: During family dinner preparations, Alfendi and Lucy get a little frisky...as do his parents.


Scene opens on Lucy in a kitchen, putting the finishing touches on a rather large dinner. Alfendi walks in puts his arms around her.

"Lucy..." Alfendi said.

"Yes, Prof?" Lucy responded.

"We have been together for quite a while now."

"That's right, Prof! That's what we are celebrating tonight with your Mum'n'Dad!"

"Hehe, that's right, Lucy," Alfendi chuckled. "Now before they come over, there is something I would like to discuss with you."

"Oh? What's on your mind?"

"Well, as you know," Alfendi began, "there are a few things on which my father and I do not see eye to eye on. Possibly the biggest is music. He listens to classical music on an old Victrola, whereas I listen to jazz music on my iPod."

"And those headphones of yours suit you very well, Prof," Lucy purred.

"Thank you, Lucy," Alfendi smiled. "Anyway, since I already know that my dad doesn't appreciate things like free-form guitar or saxophone, I was hoping...you could...tell me...your opinion."

"Prof," Lucy cooed, "you've been blasting and blaring your jazz music ever since we first met. And maybe you haven't noticed, but I have never said anything about your music."

"Exactly! Hence why I want to-" Alfendi is interrupted by Lucy putting her finger over his mouth.

"I love jazz music," Lucy quietly responds.

"You...what...?"

"I love jazz. I love the mood it puts you in. I love the way you dissect the different parts. I. Love. Jazz." Alfendi plants a giant kiss on Lucy's lips.

"Say it again," Alfendi urges.

"I love jazz." Alfendi goes in for a deeper kiss, slightly groping her breasts.

"Tell me about the instruments!" Alfendi says desperately.

"Oh, well, where do start?" Lucy asks, caught somewhat off-guard.

"Tell me about drums," he breathes, as he nuzzles her neck.

"Uhm, drums are very, uh, tight."

"Mmm and what about trumpets?" he huffs as he undoes her coat.

"Oh, uhm, well, trumpets are, uh, bitchin'!"

"Oh yes, and what about the piano?" he questions as he undoes her pants.

"Um, the piano has a certain ring to it."

"Tell me about the clarinet," asks Alfendi, as he drops his pants.

"Well, it's soothing and it's mellow and OHMIGOD!" Alfendi thrusts his manhood inside her as he bends her over the kitchen countertop.

Meanwhile, outside, Hershel and Emmy arrive at their son's home. Hershel goes to the door while Emmy gathers things from the Layton-mobile. As Hershel is about to ring the doorbell, he hears Lucy scream out "Oh Prof! It's so far inside me! It's reaching the depths of my mystery room!" Hershel stops, utterly embarrassed.

"Is something wrong, dear?" Emmy asks.

"Oh no! Nothing, dear, but, uh, we should go!"

"'Go?' As in go home?" Emmy asks, being led by her arm.

"Yes!"

"But why?"

"I...I-I...I don't feel well!"

"Oh? What's wrong? What is causing you discomfort?" Emmy asks, getting concerned.

"Noises."

"'Noises?'"

"I hear noises."

"Oh? Is it the sound of our son in the physical act of love with his wife?" Emmy plainly asks. Hershel stands silent and pale.

"But-but how did you know?" Hershel asks, mesmerized.

"Hershel," Emmy responds," I know my son. I woke up to his crying countless nights. In all honesty, I heard the two of them ever since we drove into the driveway."

"Oh..."

"Now let's just go inside, and wait in the living room until they finish," Emmy calmly suggested, as she headed towards the front door.

"Well...okay..." Hershel sighed.

"In fact," Emmy continued, "why don't you and your son have a little competition?"

Emmy winks, then heads inside. Hershel just stands outside and stares in confusion. Suddenly, a pair of pink lacy panties are tossed to him. They land on his hat and drape over half of his face. He instinctively heads into the house, tossing his pants and shorts into the doorway, disabling its ability to close.

"Maybe this evening won't be so bad after all," Hershel thinks to himself. "And I already know I've got some 'catching up' to do..."

THE END


End file.
